Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

L aura slept in her lover's arms that night, but they did not make love. Nor did they talk over much. It was enough just to listen to his heartbeat and steady breathing.

Yesterday evening, they heard the Berensons clambering up the pathway, the slow clop of ponies' hooves showing how laden down the little animals' panniers were.

The servants were not surprised to see Altair standing at the gates, waiting for them. The Berensons knew how omniscient Laird Sterling was when it came to his lands.

"Let me guess," the Laird said, "the Donaldssons are besieging the village of Iolaire instead of beinn na h'Iolaire fortress, and holding the villagers hostage."

Berenson nodded unhappily. "Ye have guessed their strategy correctly, Laird. They sent a page to intercept me with their demands. Return the maiden to them, or they will slaughter ten villagers every day ye withhold her from them."

Laura was horrified and did not know what to say. Altair gave her a devilish grin. "Och, ye can take the Viking oot o' the Norseland, but ye cannae breed the bloodthirst oot o' his veins."

They all walked inside the fortress walls, no longer caring about guarding the gate as they closed it behind them. "It does nae matter how much food we store or how many crossbolts we stock if an impregnable castle is nae their target." Berenson grumbled, sending his wife and sons down to the cellars with the food. "In the auld days, we would have ordered the villagers to seek refuge behind the fortress walls, but they would never do so noo."

After a bowl of soup and bread, the castle occupants had gone to bed with the problem. When they woke the following morning, however, it was still waiting for them. When Laura and Altair went down to the kitchen to break fast, the Berensons were waiting there.

"What will ye do, Laird?"

Tearing the crust off the bread with his razor sharp teeth, Altair said, "Well, I cannae allow me Lady to start her reign with blood on her hands. It's best that I go doon there and parley."

Laura could not allow that, even though she was secretly thrilled to hear Altair call her "his Lady".

"They will kill you. That is what they want you to do! I cannot let you set forth alone."

Berenson was the first to reply, with only the tiniest hint of exasperation in his voice. "Ye are the honey in the comb, Maiden! If ye go doon there, then ye will be leaving the Sterling with nay ace to play in his hand."

Altair agreed. "Aye, lass. Begging yer sweet pardon, but the fortress must be yer home until we discover Laird Donaldsson's demands." Clasping his hands around Laura's waist, he pulled her so close until his mouth was only an inch or two away from her lips. "Settle doon, me sweet beauty. I ken that wild streak I love so much aboot ye is champing at the bit to control yer own destiny. Will ye trust me just this once? I will nae fail ye."

He could read her so well. Altair knew that Laura wanted to trek down to the village to negotiate her own terms. For one moment, she fought against his mesmerizing charisma. But he was too strong. Relenting, Laura gave him her word. "I will stay here and wait for you, Altair. Please do not be too long."

His answer was a kiss. Cupping one hand around her chin, his firm mouth crushed down on her, forcing her to relinquish her self-control to him completely. His ardor almost made her lose all sense of time and place. At that moment, she was his slave, obedient to his will. And then, just as quickly, he released her and the spell was broken.

"I hold ye to that promise, Sonsie," he said, the amber gaze of his eyes holding her captive. "Be of good cheer. This will nae take long." Turning to Berenson, he asked the elderly man to accompany him back down the mountain.

"Ye're hoping me auld age will give yer mission a wee bit o' dignity?" The servant quipped as he followed the laird to the stables. Altair grinned. "If so, that makes two of us. Laura was telling me I should act with more dignity."

Shrugging, Berenson replied with equanimity. "Yer skirt chasing days are behind ye, Laird, and that is all a wife worries aboot."

Despite their jokes, it was a solemn journey down to Iolaire. Altair wore no armor, but his broadsword hung from a sheath behind his back. Using an old chemise tied to a stick by knotting the sleeves, Berenson held the white flag signifying a parley.

Every villager had been herded into the guild hall. Every exit was guarded. When the alarm was raised to let Laird Donaldsson know a party had arrived from the mountain, Altair could see how eager the man was to get his prize back by the way he stepped straight outside the hostelry where he was waiting.

The two men saluted. Ethelred stayed in the background with the rest of his father's captains. It was clear that he had been ordered to do so by Laird Donaldsson. Glowering at Altair with angry eyes, the young man sulked.

Altair stayed mounted on his horse, looking down at Ethelred from his superior height. "Let us keep these negotiations between us, Donaldsson," Laird Sterling announced. "Leave the villagers of Iolaire oot o' it."

"Give me some credit," Redmond replied. "I'm nae going to haul me soldiers all the way up to the top o' the beinn just so that ye can pick them off one by one."

Both men paused, waiting to see if the other one had a suggestion.

"I'll be off back to mine just as soon as ye bring yon maiden doon and hand her over to me."

There was a pointed pause here. Every man knew that Laird Donaldsson was using the word ‘maiden' in the loosest sense. They knew that Laura had traveled all the way back to beinn na h'Iolaire for the Highlander.

"She was nae happy at Donaldsson Castle," Altair said, turning to Ethelred, "d'ye want an unhappy bride, lad?"

Laird Redmond answered for his son. "He wants the bride who can bring him power and influence. He wants a bride with noble blood and royal connections."

Sucking the air through his teeth with a sharp snarl, Altair fought hard to remain polite. "Aye, well, that describes the bonny lassie to the last letter. She is that. What d'ye say to a duel? Me against yer son and heir? The victor gets to keep the maiden."

"To the death?" Laird Donaldsson wanted to know.

Altair smirked. "Have ye nae heard aboot me, Redmond? I am the Deathless Laird. The Immortal One. The Eternally Bewitched. I cannae die."

Ethelred stepped forward, even though two men held him back. "Me claymore will make ye eat those boastful words, ye bride-stealing bustert! Let's see how immortal ye are when yer head lies on the ground by yer feet."

Laird Redmond hushed his son. "Wheesht! Dinnae question the legends, lad." Standing with his feet apart and his sword resting on the ground point down, the laird gave Altair a cold, hard stare. "I am nae eager to spill the blood of innocent people, Sterling, but ye give me nay choice?—"

Breaking free of the men holding him, Ethelred pulled the crossbow off his back and leveled the weapon at Altair. Before either laird could tell him to halt, he loosed a bolt at Laird Sterling.

Berenson dropped the white flag with a squawk and dove for cover, but sitting on his horse high off the ground made Altair the perfect target.

The bolt lodged in the hollow between his collarbone and his shoulder. A sharp cracking sound was heard as the shoulder blade exploded into fragments as the bolt ripped a hole in it. The tip of the bolt protruded out of the back as Altair scrabbled to reach it with his fingers, his amber eyes blazing orange as the trauma registered.

They all saw it. Blood oozed out of the wound in front and did not stop. There was no miraculous healing or magical immunity. Everyone could tell that the Laird of Iolaire was deep in shock from pain and blood loss, and nothing was going to come and change that.

"Help the man to stay on his horse," Laird Donaldsson ordered, "take him to the inn and lie him on the bed." Turning to Ethelred, he scolded his son. "Ye broke the sanctity of the white flag o' parley, ye bampot scallywag!"

Walking alongside Berenson as the shocked elderly servant held the wounded man on the saddle, Laird Redmond took Altair's hand. "Ye have yerself a deal, Laird Sterling. A fight to the death, with the winner taking the maiden for his own. I promise to nae kill any villagers ‘til then. The duel is set for the morrow."

It was Mistress Berenson who came to wake Laura. The young woman had spent a restless night wondering where the laird and his faithful servant were. A soft pink light filtered through the window shutters, not the orange pink of sunset but the soft mauve pink of dawn. "Damsel, wake. A messenger has come for ye."

"Where is Altair?" Laura wanted to know. "Where is your husband, Master Berenson?"

But all the housekeeper did was shake her head and walk out, saying, "I'll wait for ye doonstairs."

Muttering prayers under her breath, Laura drew the dark plaid around her shoulders and then hurried down. The messenger—a young boy whose eyes kept staring around the stone walls in fear—bowed before passing Laura a note.

She read it out aloud for the housekeeper to hear:

Leave at once for Humberside Manor. Take as much gold as you need for the trip. Hire outriders and the best coach, but be sure to do it from the next town over. Laird Sterling will find you there, and this is his direct command, God willing. Your servant, Berenson .

The two women looked at one another in confusion. "What is going on? Was there a battle? Did Laird Sterling lose the day?"

The lad shook his head. "I dare nae disobey me orders, Damsel! And I am ordered to nae tell ye."

Seeing the young boy was in awe of Laura's foreignness and Sassenach origins, Mistress Berenson stepped up and gave the boy a shake. "Noo listen here ye wee scamp. Tell me why Master Berenson wrote us such a cryptic letter, or may the eagles gobble the liver oot yer belly!"

Slowly, the truth came out. The laird had lost his magical ability to heal—if he ever had it at all. "He was so brave, Mistress. Us villagers heard him speak with the invaders from where we were gathered in the guildhall. He put his own life on the line to save us by offering to fight a duel. We all thought he was immortal—even the Donaldssons believed oor laird was eternally young and strong—but then Ethelred shot Laird Sterling with a crossbolt."

Laura had seen Altair's magic healing with her own eyes, so she did not react after hearing this. That was, until the boy continued. "The laird began to bleed like a wild boar stuck with a spear, Damsel. So, right then and there, the Donaldssons accepted his offer to duel."

"B-but this makes no sense," Laura knew she was blethering, but she could not stop the scrambled words from pouring out. "Altair is immortal! I saw his singed hand heal with my own eyes. How can things change with no rhyme or reason?"

Mistress Berenson looked grim. "Only one thing has changed in the laird's life during recent times, Laura, and that's ye! Whether it be by magic or Mither Nature, a curse might be broken if a man falls in love."

Laura could not think of a worse time for such a thing to happen. "But why? Why now?"

Aware of the village lad listening intently to their discourse, Mistress Berenson searched for the right way to say it. "Because a coin with only one side makes nay sense! All roads must eventually end, Laura. Falling in love is like the full stop at the end of a long, rambling sentence. When yer heart heaves a sigh o' relief as it realizes it doesnae have to be alone anymore. That's stronger than magic."

"Or it's a magic all of its own!" The lad piped up, "Ye just have to be patient and wait for the right one to come along."

Chuckling, the housekeeper ruffled the lad's hair. "Aye, ye wee scamp, but who told ye aboot such deep matters?"

The boy shrugged. "It's what Mither tells me sisters."

Laura tried not to let it rankle her that the village lad's sisters had more choice than she did when it came to selecting a marriage partner. "I do not care what Berenson's letter says. I am not leaving—ever! In fact, I will go back down to Iolaire with this boy and see Altair's wound with my own eyes. Surely, it cannot be that bad?"

When the lad stared down at his shoes, scuffing the ground so that he did not have to look in her eyes, Laura's stomach jumped. "It is bad? My God, then what are we doing havering in the courtyard? I must fly to his side!"

Mistress Berenson grabbed Laura's arm. "Has the altitude made ye lose yer senses, girl? Ye cannae disobey the laird's command."

Twisting her arm out of the housekeeper's grasp, Laura stormed off, shouting over her shoulder, "Even if this fortress was filled to the brim with soldiers, they would not be enough to keep me from my love!"

Running upstairs, Laura burst into Nurse Mildred's room without knocking. "I must leave for Iolaire right away!"

Nurse Mildred turned her face to the wall. "If you think I am setting one foot outside these walls, Laura, you must have run mad. My legs hardly function after that horrendous climb up here."

Laughing, Laura bent to give her nurse a hug. "And nor do I expect you to, dear Nurse. I only came in here to let you know. If you need someone to apply your liniment, please make your request to Mistress Berenson."

This got Mildred's attention. Sitting up, she set her nightcap straight on her gray ringlets. "But who will act as your chaperone? At least make the pretense of caring, Laura."

But the young woman had already left with a careless wave of her hand.